Darkness
by Arty Thrip - Alpha 04
Summary: The Nine Divines discuss their latest batch of heroes...


The room was dark.

Far darker than most subterranean locations often felt that they ought to be, even without candles and even sealed tightly shut so that not even the worms could reach it to feed on the gloom.

A candle sprung into light and immediately the whole place was illuminated. The shadows danced around the large round table as they leapt in fear of the moving flame violently onto the stark brick walls.

"Yuck. I don't see why we have to meet in such a dank place," a female voice complained as its owner began to materialise at one seat around the table. Her silvery hair flowed from her head and tumbled over her shoulders to form an elaborate dress that fell all the way to the floor. "It's so dark and _plain_."

"Oh yes... Woe betide Dibella should be seated somewhere _plain_," another voice mocked. The speaker was a middle aged man with a thick brown beard, a winged helmet upon his brow that was forged in gold. His armour was aureate also, and a heavy black cloak was clasped at his throat and rippled over her back to accent his muscular arms.

"Now now, Talos," a man with a long red beard and bushy moustache scolded him. He wore nothing but a simple grey robe. "Have mercy upon the woman. You are a newcomer to our midst; it is not your place to pass judgements."

"I have sat among you for four centuries," the once-mortal god pointed out indignantly.

A second woman appeared, her golden hair rippling against her simple green silken dress and quaint red cloak. "And together we Eight sat without you since the dawn of all time," she stated. Her voice was somewhat more matter-of-fact than those who had spoken before her, and she was learned without a doubt. "You would do well not to question your place among us." Placing a single white hand against the dark wood, she stood and beckoned towards the empty seats. "My husband anticipates that we shall have much to discuss. We cannot make decisions as four of Nine."

Three more figures emerged swiftly as her hand passed over their chairs. An old man with grey hair and beard, obsessing diligently over a set of scales as his blue-and-orange robe swished in a non-existent breeze; he made no move to speak. A woman with skin that glowed a faint blue, with hair to match that fanned out in all directions as she shifted impatiently, scratching at the fabric covering her limbs; Dibella observed her coldly, as though she had no place among female society. The third was clad in fiery red with a long wooden cane in one hand as he ran his fingers through his chestnut coloured facial hair. There was a curiously subdued air about him.

"I fail to see why we cannot meet somewhere in the open air..." the blue woman mused to herself, though somehow the other six present heard her. "To feel the wind..." She shifted again, more uncomfortably.

"Patience, Kynareth," the standing woman said soothingly. "You know full well that we cannot meet above ground when the mortals walk nearby. Discovery would be the worst fallout in all of eternity. This should not take long."

Dibella laughed. It was a sweet melodious sound that filled the room from floor to ceiling. "Ah, Mara, you already said that your husband claims we have much to discuss. If it should not take long, can we not wait another century before we are called together?"

"No." Mara shook her head. It was times like these that she took upon a matriarchal role amongst the Divines as they grew restless. "This is of vital importance and must be spoken of at once."

A figure came into view next to her. He was a dragon and a man merged into one, constantly shifting between two states of his own being, a long flowing robe around his shoulders changing colours as he himself was altered. Silence fell. "Ah," he stated, though not unkindly. He had power unlike the others; he was their leader. "It is good to see you are all present..." His gaze fell on the one empty seat and he frowned. "Where is Julianos?" he demanded.

The other seven looked blankly among themselves, before Kynareth returned to her fidgeting, and the old man Zenithar continued weighing something that was either completely invisible or did not exist – either was possible for the Divine.

Finally, the ninth figure materialised slowly amid a mound of scrolls, an abacus and quill abandoned on the table before him as he searched between the documents he held. His hair was long and faintly tinged in green, but his robes were swamped under rolls and rolls of parchment. "Terribly sorry," he murmured, eyes averted from the group as he pushed some of the paper onto the surface and began scanning them all. "I was just... umm... searching..." he trailed off, moving piles of manuscripts around again with a loud rustling din.

"Enough," the dragon commanded, thumping his hand down onto the table to bring about silence and pulling out Mara's chair so that she could sit. He remained standing. "We have important matters to discuss."

Dibella sighed and inspected her fingernails closely. "Are you _sure_ this cannot wait a century or so?" she complained, pushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear that a moment later resembled a fold in her long glistening frock.

"No. It cannot. Much has happened since last we met; the Fifth century of what the mortals call the _Third __Era_ is rather strewn with blood. We must choose them a Nerevarine to combat the Blight Curse when it is reawakened from within Red Mountain. Now, the last hero we chose played out rather well and managed to free his Emperor, so I propose that this time we follow similar lines as before. The man who saw to the salvation of Daggerfall did rather splendidly as well..."

Armoured Talos stood. "Would you like me to convey to Uriel whom we have chosen again?"

Akatosh nodded. "Be seated, brother," he said calmly, turning to the other seven. "There are many mortals we can choose from and back in battle. Does anybody have any preferences?"

"How about a woman?" Mara suggested as across the table Kynareth began shuffling again. The goddess of winds and elements had never been comfortable sitting far beneath the ground in this subterranean lair. "All our heroes of old have been men."

"True," agreed Dibella, running fingers through her hair again so that it shimmered in the candlelight. "Is it not better that we present equality?"

Nobody could object beyond that.

"Which race?" the dragon-god put forward. "The previous heroes were..." He faltered. "Julianos?"

The god of wisdom looked up from his papers and blinked against the light. "Ah," he began slightly less than promisingly. "I believe they were a Breton and an Imperial. Rather standard races, I suppose, given the provinces which they saved." He shuffled some documents a little before holding one up to the candle flame. "Yes," he spoke aloud. "I have here a list of all the current women living in Tamriel. Shall I strike off all Bretons and Imperials?"

"Please do."

Stendarr spoke up. "The Dunmeri people have been practicing racists for quite some time. Would it not be merciful to teach them a lesson in humility by allowing their saviour to come from outside of Morrowind?"

"Indeed, it might be," Talos thundered. He had been a loud man in life, and even more so following his apotheosis. "Though perhaps she might come from within Morrowind, but not be a Dunmer... That way their hero would be well versed in their customs and not likely to cause too much upset within the Great Houses."

"You speak as though we cannot pull strings to make them accepted," Dibella sneered. "Such a newcomer..." she muttered.

Mara shook her head. "No, Dibella, I believe Brother Talos may have a point." She stood next to her Divine husband. "Sometimes we must simply help our people to help themselves; they cannot rely on us always. Julianos, perhaps we might take a citizen from the mainland? Somebody with heroic potential that they are squandering away..."

"A Nord?" the scholar asked hopefully, glancing over his list. "There is one here that may just suit."

Akatosh clapped his hands together authoritatively and his wife sat. "That matter is sorted then. There are more, however, before you all see fit to leave. It seems that Mehrunes Dagon is seeing fit to try to claim Tamriel... And Umaril the Unfeathered is planning to make his return... There is also that infernal King of Worms..."

"_Three_ champions? Oh _must _we discuss this now?" Kynareth whined, her fidgeting growing more extreme. "I do not see why we cannot meet above ground..."

"Now, we have discussed this before," Zenithar pointed out, speaking for the first time. "Every single meeting since the dawn of time." He picked up one of Julianos' scrolls and placed it daintily on his scales. "If one were to weigh up the consequences and benefits of meeting above ground, one would see rather clearly that all the odds were stacked against us. It is more our place to remain out of sight and slowly tweak the fates of mortals than to blithely rush forth and reveal our existence to them."

"Yes, but _why_."

"Kynareth, you know as well as any other that allowing ourselves to be _seen_ by the mortals would be disastrous. We thrive on their _beliefs_, and were it not for that then we would not exist. If we were seen among them we would lose our Divine power as they saw how we were little more than they were," Julianos explained in a long-winded fashion, as though he were practiced at giving this speech. "I have some more lists of mortals if we are in need of three champions..."

"There will be death before the end." Arkay said nothing more. His eyes were closed tightly and his hands were clasped around his long walking pole, his body doing nothing besides taking slow, unnecessary breaths.

For a long time, nobody spoke. The candle burned and the wax dripped until it was close to guttering itself. Strange that beings so powerful should resort to a light source that was so simple.

Finally Akatosh clapped his hands together, his dragon side showing clearly. "And so to the matter in hand..." he stated simply, a growl on his tone. "It seems we shall need to reincarnate Pelinal Whitestrake in order to banish Umaril properly this time. He had retreated to the realm of Meridia for many a century, where mortal blades could not touch him. Our Knights of the Eight all died in vain. Perhaps this time we _Nine_ will prove more successful."

Talos stood and saluted, a gauntleted fist across his heart. "I will bless our Crusader in his fight... But I fear that I am not familiar with the story of Whitestrake."

"Pray, Talos, who stated that our Crusader would be a man?" Mara asked, cocking an eyebrow in good humour. "Umaril the Unfeathered plagued the mortals in their time of the _First__Era_. He was an Ayleid sorcerer, and accumulated far too much power for us alone to deal with him. We each created a relic to aid his destruction and our champion, Pelinal, stepped forth and slew him. However Umaril cheated death by escaping to Meridia's realm, a place where we Eight had no power. Our knights hid the relics in safe places so that only our chosen warrior would find them should they ever be needed again, and alas they died, or were corrupted. Now my husband has news of Umaril's return, we must find again our champion, someone who we shall bless and someone who shall finally best Umaril in his entirety."

"We must find a humble man. A man not beyond mercy," Stendarr suggested. "A man who came forth not searching for glory, but out of goodness in his heart. A man of honour, and courage, and decency..."

"A Redguard?" Came the voice from beneath the pile of parchments. "I have here a man who would be suited..."

"A _man_, Julianos?"

The dragon laughed. "Oh come now, dear wife, you cannot have every hero be female. The Redguard man will suit well enough. What of this matter of Mannimarco?"

Arkay shuddered from his stupor. "Death," he whispered. "Death will come of it." The others remained quiet to listen. "A man and a woman. Mages. Together. The lich cannot be defeated alone. One of them will not survive..."

Whenever the god of life and death spoke, everybody paid attention.

"Julianos?" asked Mara when it was clear that the man would say no more.

"Ah." The lack of promise was usual for the god; if he had been named the god of the disorganised along with that of wisdom and logic it would have been equally suitable. "Mages..." He shuffled his papers. "Not many of them..."

"Perhaps some elves?" suggested Dibella. "I do so _love_ the elves." She shot a glance at Kynareth that spoke a thousand insults. "For what fun is an Imperial or Breton or Nord or Redguard? Men, all of them. Most _boring_." When she laughed, it sounded like bells were chiming.

"High Elves are skilled in magic," muttered Zenithar, though his mind was wandering elsewhere.

The keeper of the scrolls perused his wears. "I have several Altmer on this list," he admitted. "Many of them are with the Mages Guild, or will be at that time..."

"Do you not believe that a High Elf is too... too... proud to accept the help of another?" asked the god of mercy. "They deem only that their own race is superior..."

"Then perhaps we ought to pair them up with an Orsimer?" Dibella chuckled. "They are surely brusque enough to put any self-obsessed Altmer in their place."

Akatosh nodded. "A splendid plan."

Julianos frowned deeply as he inspected his updated list. "There are few Orcs in that guild. Many have remained in Orsinium following the dispute that took place in Daggerfall. I have two; sisters, it seems. And as for an Altmer... There is one here who has a peculiar view of life."

"A vampire," muttered Arkay, his eyes tight shut. "Reeking of death. And young; impressionable."

"And perfect," stated the dragon god. "Julianos, I trust your logic in choosing a sister to accompany this elf. I do not believe either is more suited than the other." The wise god nodded. "The invasion of Mehrunes Dagon is the last and perhaps most important thing that we ought to address. It is twinned with, and caused by, the assassination of Uriel Septim. The event itself is out of our hands; it _must_ occur, and I believe that the man himself will accept it with dignity. Talos, I trust you will state this to him."

The warrior nodded gravely. "It is said among the mortals that the Septims see more than others," he said slowly. "But it is merely that they are favoured by the gods. He is not the last of my line, I know, but the end is near. I feel it."

"A necessary end," Mara breathed with an air of austerity. "Nothing may last forever. Not even the Divines. We exist only from the belief of mortals; and that, dearest daughter Kynareth, is a further reason that we cannot reveal ourselves. It would strengthen their faith in our existence, but demolish any confidence that we were somehow more than they were. They would think themselves gods and we would slip from their memories and thus from this plane of existence."

Kynareth said nothing, but folded her arms in annoyance and tried to force herself to be still for a moment.

"Where will this hero come into play?" Stendarr questioned softly. The god of mercy had never been loud or forceful, even before he had become one of the principal Divines.

Akatosh smiled wryly. "A hero to avenge Uriel and to aid a young Martin Septim in relighting the Dragonfires. We shall all have our roles to play when the time comes. Mehrunes Dagon is a formidable foe; we have not been directly challenged by the Daedric Princes for some millennia."

"The Dragonfires?" Talos raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it is you who will finally vanquish Dagon then?" he asked. He seemed tense, his hand at his hip clutching at a sword that was not there. Mara had forbidden him to bring a blade to these meetings some centuries past.

"Ah, Talos, you leap to conclusions," the dragon continued with a subtle smirk. "It was I who bestowed the Amulet of Kings upon the Septims. You must know this, being the first. Naturally it is I who must aid them if they should need it; we cannot predict the Daedra as we have no control of their actions, but we know who the mortals will turn to in need. However, though it is my Divine power within the Amulet, it is not mine alone; I shall require assistance from each of you, if only to relay messages to the necessary people. Who shall we choose to be our hero?"

"A Dunmer." Dibella smiled sweetly and stood. Her silver locks formed a dress that scarcely covered her modesty and yet revealed absolutely nothing.

"Very well," agreed Mara. "A woman."

Julianos consulted his lists. "Do you wish for any specific type of hero?" he questioned slowly after frowning at the multitude of names he saw before him.

"Someone loyal and honourable," said Talos, thumping his chest with a fist.

"Someone shrewd and intelligent," suggested Zenithar, his mind on his invisible wares.

"Someone in touch with the elements," Kynareth stated, pausing her shuffling.

"Someone capable of mercy," replied Stendarr, though barely above a whisper.

"Someone who is comfortable with death," growled Arkay. He opened his eyes to reveal milky white pupils; he had been blind ever since he had read the Book of Death. He saw nothing. And everything.

"Ah." The bookkeeper was impressed. It was not often that a response could be evoked from all Eight of his counterparts, and even less often that they could agree on one specific outcome. "There is only one who fits your descriptions, but she does not believe in us. She never will. She is fiercely loyal and honourable – yet she will never name a cause as her own. She is shrewd and intelligent – yet near insane. She is a great mage of destruction magicka – yet she lacks guidance. She is _capable_ of mercy – yet she seldom offers it. She is _comfortable_ with death; she delights in taking lives – yet the deaths of those close to her fill her with fear."

"She is perfect," Akatosh agreed. No-one spoke against him. "This is all that we must discuss at this time."

Dibella sighed in relief. "When shall we be called together again?" she asked. "This place is drab; I think I should bring some decorations at our next meeting."

"When next our candle is lit." Arkay waved a hand over the object and the flame guttered, plunging the room into total and complete blackness.

The room was dark.

* * *

><p><em>This was a random idea that sprung upon me and would not leave me alone. I rather enjoyed writing it though. Let me know what you think.<em>


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